


The Power of Surrender

by Johnlockiana



Series: The Intimacy of Control [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Subspace, Top John, blindfold, breath play, control play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockiana/pseuds/Johnlockiana
Summary: Months have passed since Sherlock and John's first foray into BDSM, and things have progressed. Sherlock is yet again challenged, as their journey into the depths of intimacy, control and surrender takes another step forward.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I had planned "Lose to Win" to be a one-shot, stand-alone story. However, when I received a lovely comment from Schmiezi, prompting me to write more of this, plot bunnies immediately started forming. And quite quickly, I had two more stories planned. This series will therefore be a trilogy, with an overarching theme and with emotional progression from the both of them.

Sherlock knew something was up. He could see it in the way John looked at him from across the room, how he moved around him. The way he sat in his chair, thinking, considering.

John had plans for him tonight. 

Sherlock drew in his breath, feeling his body tingling with anticipation. He didn't say anything, though, didn't let on that he knew. Two could play this game. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, his thoughts going back to their very first session. How naive he had been! It was almost embarrasing to think about. He mentally shrugged. He had to start somewhere, didn’t he? Just like with the Carl Powers case. He was just as desperatly fumbly and blue-eyed back then. But he had grown. And learned.

Just the same here, with him and John. They had grown and learned over the last few months. Their sessions had gradually developed. Sometimes John would try something that Sherlock didn’t particularly like, but John could read him like he himself read a crime scene, and would often change his plans before Sherlock even had a chance to say "yellow" or "red". 

Sherlock was endlessly fascinated by this. How easily John could read him in bed. It was intriguing. Sometimes annoying. But always fascinating.

He looked over at John again. He had started tapping his fingers restlessly on his armchair. 

Alright, then. 

Sherlock got up, ignored John and tried to walk past him, only to have him being stopped by a hand on his arm.

He looked down at John, still sitting in his chair. John looked him straight in the eye, with a calm expression on his face.

"I think I want to take you into the bedroom and fuck you," he said. 

Sherlock was stunned into silence for a moment. Well, that was new. Crude, but effective. 

He quickly redrew his arm and said, as arrogantly as he could muster:

"Well, what if I am not interested?"

Of course, if he really hadn’t been interested – which sometimes happened – all he had to do was say "Red. Sorry, John, I’m not in the mood today." And John would give a little smile, they’d kiss and John would go to make them both some tea.

So when Sherlock gave his statement and turned to walk away, he knew what signals he was giving – and how John would interpret them.

Which was confirmed when a moment later, he felt John grab his wrist and push him towards the wall. Standing just an inch apart, John stared him down, his face hard. He smiled, one of those smiles that sent chills down Sherlock’s spine.

"Well... Guess I will have to tie you up then, won’t I?" 

Sherlock swallowed. That was also new. They had never tried bondage before. John really had planned this. His pulse was racing. He loved these moments. He loved feeling John’s hand wrapped around his own wrist, being pinned up against the wall. He loved to feel John’s strength, and how controlled and measured it was. Just enough force to keep Sherlock in place, but not enough to truly hurt or damage. And it all seemed so effortless for John.

All that control and restraint directed towards him. Sherlock got short of breath just thinking about it. And just because he wanted to feel more of it, he started struggling. He hoped he would catch John even a little bit by surprise, going suddenly from limp and short-breathed to alert and fighting.

However, John was prepared. John was always prepared. Sherlock was smacked hard against the wall and the hand holding his wrist was tightened, becoming slightly painful. 

"Far too predictable," John teased. For a moment, Sherlock got honestly annoyed by that – if anything, he was _not_ predictable! And of course, John knew it and grinned wickedly. Intolerable!

He raised an arrogant eyebrow. "Well, do your best. I doubt you can tie a knot I can’t get out off." 

John’s grin grew wider. "Challenge accepted."

Damn. Those words never ended well for him. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut!

John grabbed Sherlock by his curls and yanked him down for a kiss. Sherlock answered hungrily. While still kissing, John pushed towards the bedroom, Sherlock shuffling awkwardly backwards. As soon as his knees hit the bed, John locked his leg around his ankle and pulled hard. Sherlock lost balance and fell on the bed with a surprised yelp. John followed, standing on all fours over him, grinning. 

"Is that how you get your conquests to bed?" Sherlock asked, slightly miffed.

"Only the difficult ones," John replied, kissing him again. 

They continued to kiss while John undressed them both. They kissed even more as John manouvered Sherlock to the top of the bed, raised his arms over his head and tied his wrists together with his belt, fastening it to the headboard. He tugged and fiddled a bit to make sure it was tight enough, but not too tight. 

_Always the doctor,_ Sherlock thought. 

John was sitting on top of him, a knee on either side of his stomach. His hands were stroking and exploring his sides and chest.

"So beautiful," John whispered. "You are gorgeous like this." He bent down and they kissed again, Sherlock was becoming all warm and fussy by the, slightly unexpected, praise.

John kissed him deeply before continuing down his chin and neck. He planted small kisses on his shoulder and his chest, sucked at his nipples before licking his way further down. Sherlock closed his eyes and couldn’t help his body arching up towards John. 

Still moving downwards, John nipped at the skin below the navel. Sherlock drew in a breath, his cock already fully erect. John slid further down. From a bottle lying on the bed ("How did that get here?" Sherlock silently wondered), John squeezed lube into his hand and slowly began the process of opening and stretching Sherlock. 

While his fingers worked Sherlock open, he put his lips – just almost – on the top of Sherlock’s cock, breathing a warm and humid breath.

Sherlock moaned. John always took his time preparing Sherlock, the doctor part of him always making sure that, no matter what else they were doing, he would never hurt him during sex. While Sherlock certainly appreciated the sentiment, there was a fine line between consideration and _too damn slow._

"Will you get moving?" he snapped in frustration. John stiffened and looked up, his face going dark. 

Sherlock felt his pulse racing. That had clearly not been the right thing to say. 

John moved up to Sherlock again. Without saying anything, he opened the drawer next to the bed and took out a blindfold. 

_Not my eyes,_ Sherlock thought, as the blindfold was firmly put on him and tightened. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with a blindfold, but he would prefer to see John. See his eyes, his facial expressions, his lust. 

John had leaned over him, his mouth close to Sherlock’s ear as he whispered:

"You know, if I wanted to, I could just leave you like this. Tied to the bed, open and willing. I could fuck you before going back to the living room, watch telly, make you lie here for hours. Come back in and fuck you again whenever I wanted and just leave when I was done. I could go on like that all night…"

Sherlock closed his eyes inside the blindfold, his heart beating frantically. John would _never_ do something like that! 

Would he? 

That was always the question that made Sherlock’s mind spin. John was always caring, loving, protective. Sherlock loved that side of him. Yet sometimes, when he was like this, he was selfish, arrogant and hard. And Sherlock loved that side too. It spoke of danger and darkness, of depths in him that went far beyond the cuddly jumpers and the friendly smile.

John had surprised him before. What if he did? Probably not, but… Sherlock was breathing hard.

"Please, John…"

"That’s better." John kissed him on his neck.

"Tonight you’re mine," he whispered. "I will take my time, and I will fuck you for as long and as hard as I like, whenever I like." 

Sherlock’s body felt heavy with desire, he’s cock rock hard. He couldn’t help it, he loved it when John was like this. Hard and selfish, yet also so very much in control. 

John continued to open him up, to kiss and touch him wherever he wanted. Yet he never touched him where Sherlock most needed to. He felt as if he was going crazy with lust, which he suspected was part of John’s plan.

Finally, _finally,_ John was ready, and easily slid himself into place. They both moaned with pleasure. John started moving, slowly, taking his time. Sherlock could feel that, while moving inside him, sometimes John would touch his prostata, sometimes he wouldn’t. It felt more at random than anything done deliberatly. John simply didn’t care, this was all for him. Sherlock splayed out for him, bound and helpless, at his mercy. The thought made him even harder, if possible. 

John bent over him, and to Sherlock’s surprise, he suddenly felt John’s hand wrap around his throat. Slowly, John started to squeeze. 

Sherlock’s mind started to race. What was this? 

_Could be dangerous._

_John is a doctor, he knows what he is doing._

Images flashed before his mind, of cases where this kind of play had gone horribly wrong. And wasn’t there some sort of celebrity who had died from this? Sherlock couldn’t recall, and why on earth was he thinking about this now? He had deleted it. Trivial and boring.

Well, it certainly didn’t feel trivial and boring now, with his ability to breathe slowly becoming harder. He noticed John going very slowly, giving Sherlock plenty of time to say "yellow". Or even "red". 

Sherlock didn’t say anything.

As the hold tightened, Sherlock’s pulse started beating hard, he could feel it drumming in his ears. It became harder and harder to draw any kind of breath, and the tight hold itself was getting painful. Sherlock tried to stay calm, but it was difficult to draw calming breaths when you couldn’t breathe properly. By the time the blood started roaring in his ears, his surival instinct kicked in and his body acted on it’s own accord. He started fighting his restraints, feeling panic building up inside him.

John stopped. He didn’t let go, or even loosen his hold, but he stopped tightening it. Sherlock’s pulse raced as if he had been running for miles, he could feel his body shaking and his palms had become sweaty.  
Sherlock tried to get a hold of himself, tried to calm down. John knew what he was doing, John was in control. He was safe. He felt John almost lying on top of him, skin to skin contact. It soothed him, made him able to relax. It took a while to calm down with his breathing this shallow, but finally John’s hand, still tight around his throat, started to feel more like an anchor than a threat.

Only then did Sherlock notice that John was still moving inside him. He suddenly realised that all throughout, while he, Sherlock, had been panicking and struggling with his survival instinict, John had continued to fuck him.

It hit him like a wave, flooding him, drowning him, pulling him downwards. Down to the place where he was for John, all for John. Where he was safe and small, where his mind was calm and quiet. 

He felt John’s breath by his ear again. "You know, I could squeeze until you fall unconscious, and still continue to fuck you."

His words made Sherlock dizzy with lust. John had never been this dark, this edgy. Just imagining what John was saying made Sherlock moan, hardly aware of himself. Too overcome by the intensity, the lust, the darkness, Sherlock surrendered. He went completely limp, almost melting into the mattress, giving up his entire body and mind to John. 

Only then did John continue to tighten his grip, still pounding Sherlock hard. Sherlock didn’t fight it any more, He only existed for John, his mind had gone utterly still and quiet, a nirvana of pure bliss and surrender.

He felt his world turning dark, spots dancing on the edge of his vision. His throat hurt, but he didn’t care. The world was spinning, there was nothing except the blurry dark edges in front of him, the tightness in his throat and John fucking him over and over. Later he realised that John must have removed his hand just as Sherlock went unconscious, because the world disappeared only for a moment. Just as he resurfaced, gasping for breath, John came – and came hard – with a loud groan. 

Sherlock was breathing hard, trying to regain where he was and what was happening. Had he blacked out? His memory return within seconds, greatly helped by a sweaty and worn-out John on top of him. He could feel him, smell him. But even as John was leaning over him, there was no heavy body weighing him down. John was clearly supporting himself with one hand on each side of Sherlock, so to not crush him with his weight. Even now, he was in control, making sure not to hurt Sherlock.

Sherlock found it quite ironic. And very endearing. 

His arms and wrists was getting quite sore, his muscles were close to cramping, and his throat was hoarse and painful. But he was still too far gone to really care. Although he couldn’t see John, he could hear him. He sounded very spent - and very content. Sherlock gasped as one of John’s hands spidered down to his cock. Although his entire body felt spent, he was also very sensitive – especially his, so far ignored, cock.

Sherlock closed his eyes, revelling in the amazing feeling. Pure joy, nothing could feel as good as this, coming from a place of calm serenity to this overwhelming intensity. 

"Look at me," John commanded, swiftly removing his blindfold. Sherlock blinked a few times, before obliging. When he did, he was taken aback with what he saw. He had expected to see hard, blue eyes staring at him. But in John’s eyes, he saw a wealth of warm and love, of pure admiration.

"You are amzing, Sherlock. I love you so much," he said earnestly.

Sherlock almost sobbed in reply. Those eyes, those words, it tipped him over the edge and he came and came over John’s hand. More spent then he had ever been in his life, he collapsed onto the bed, feeling close to passing out once more.

He felt John untying his hands, massaging his aching wrists. He was hardly able to keep his hands up by himself, he was glad John did it for him.

John looked down at him, smiling. Sherlock smiled back. He was shaking a little. John drew him close, their limbs entwined. They didn’t say anything, no words were needed. They just held each other close, both needing their time to return to reality.

After a while, John cleared his throat. 

"That was probably a bit not good," he admitted

"Yeah, probably," Sherlock agreed, before continuing:

"I like a bit not good." 

John smiled wickedly at him. They kissed. 

"Glad to hear."

Sherlock snuggled close to John, thinking. His mind always felt unusal sharp after these sessions – once he had resurfaced, of course. It felt like rebooting a computer, something he didn’t tell John. It was probably too technical for John’s taste.

John… He had learned a lot about him these past few months. He probably wasn’t aware of how much he had revelead of himself. Of course he wasn’t, people were idiots. Even his John – the most wonderful idiot of them all. Sherlock kissed him fondly on his forehead.

"John?"

"Mhm?"

"Next time it’s my turn." 

Sherlock stroked his hand through John’s hair. John was a bit taken aback, he could tell. Usually it was the other way around – John loved playing with his hair (he loved it too, when John played with his hair, but he would never say it out loud).

He could see John considering.

"All right," he said finally. Sherlock could see that he was slighly apprehensive.

"Don’t worry, John," he teased. "You know we always have the traffic light safeword."

John cracked a smile at that, and they went quiet again, snuggling.

Yeah, he knew his John. While holding him tight, Sherlock started planning.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a third instalment in this series, this time the focus will be on John. It turns out John is very different from Sherlock when it comes to these issues - how will he react to Sherlock for once challenging him? And how will Sherlock go about it, to be able to reach him?


End file.
